The Home Stretch (Luke, Dyrdas, Closed)

[Mixcoatl]

5th of Spring, 511 After Valterrian Spring was truly upon them. The blistering winds of Winter that had once assailed them had parted not a few days earlier as Morwen retreated back to her domain, leaving them in the chilly, but not freezing, embrace of Spring. It was a feeling that all those native to the Sea of Grass had been yearning for the entirety of the journey, and it showed. Despite the fact that it was still under sixty degrees, cloaks were being abandoned left and right as people basked in the rays of Syna. It was a beautiful day, the sky decorated with only a few wispy clouds as the Sea spread out around them, grass swaying every so slightly in the slight breeze. Inaril herself lazed on the wood of the Pavilion, her eyes blankly staring out into the expanse before her as she folded her arms across her stomach, which rose and fell with every breath that she took. While the Drykas basked and lazed, however, Dyrdas and Luke worked. Today's duty was to move barrels of water that had been filled the day before back into the Pavilion's water store. It was back-breaking, exhausting labor, but they were provided for well at the end of the day, and they were fed, so it was better than dying, one could argue. Only two men worked with them, both terribly pale, an odd contrast to the tanned Drykas that surrounded them. No matter their efforts, the pair ignored them and went about their work. Dyrdas's and Luke's hosts had seen to it that they knew that these were dysfunctional men, good for only these roles, but the spark in their eyes, that one of human thought, that one of sentience that everything on the Sea seemed to bear begged to differ. Eventually, the Pavilion came to a stop for the next few days, to give the horses a break. Tents were offloaded and pitched, but Dyrdas and Luke were afforded no breaks. About 7/8ths of the way through their labors, they heard something out of the ordinary. It was a shout, human in origin, spouting words in Pavi. Although the words were too much for Dyrdas to grasp, both men could tell that, whatever he was saying, it was urgent. Soon enough, this thought was confirmed, as Inaril herself was rushing in, spear in hand, saying something to them in rushed Common. "Glassbeaks are coming fast. Arm. Now," That was all she spared them, but the urgency in her voice was apparent. The majority of the hunters had left not three hours ago, leaving the Pavilion dangerously undefended. Worse yet, the Pavilion had just begun to make a stationary residence, meaning that it not only had to defend the wooden platform and its inhabitants, but the tents. It was a grave fight, to be certain. All around them, people were grabbing weapons of every sort, herding horses into the maze of tents that surrounded the Pavilion, arming themselves for the conflict ahead. Inaril was the first armed, and she was out like a thunderbolt, carried on graceful legs that had no doubt seen battles like this one too many times. Her last cry was only a few words, spoken in Common, so they were for Luke and Dyrdas. "Defend the horses!"

[Luke Lammergeier]

For the umpteenth time Luke crouched down to grab a large water filled barrel and lifted up. Making sure to use his legs to not strain out his back. Carrying it with both arms he dropped it off amongst the others in the storage tent. For weeks now he had been doing the same remedial work. Helping with the tent's, unloading equipment and then repacking. Never seeing the true end of his work.

Luke swore as he lifted both hands above and then behind his head to breath better. Clearly annoyed with having to unpack after just packing up. He began slowly walking back to the stock piles he still needed to move.

In Kain's gang everyone pulled their weight, even Luke, but there you at least got respect and a share of the profits. Here most Drykas looked at them like they were touched in the head. Nothing at all like the Honorable warriors Kain told stories about. Even the horses got a better break than they did. Although between this slave work or death in the harsh Sea of Grass it was tolerable.

After catching his breath and stretching his sore and neglected muscles. He walked quickly out of the tent. Knowing that the worst pain came when you allowed yourself to get slow and lazy. When you let the fatigue effect you, then the pain really starts hitting.

Luke threw a side ways glance at his fellow Northerner Drydas. With all the work they had to do, there wasn't much room for proper discussion. He was wondering how the younger man was holding up.

“Magic isn't helping much, huh?” Luke gave a friendly but curt smile. He was never good at breaking the ice but it was a start.

The sudden alarmed cry cut off any conversation they could have. Spinning towards the noise a dull squeezing motion hit his stomach. Instinct told him it was bandits, raiders or the authorities but a second later those speculations vanished. Out here nature was the real danger. He remembered the day he first met Inaril, the flash flood that would of killed him easily if she hadn't took him along.

Inaril came running up full speed yelling quickly about the Glassbeaks. The stories Kain told about Glassbeaks came to mind and he knew it would be bad. Not wasting any time he broke out into a sprint towards his tent past Inaril. When he got their he had to scramble past the men and women gathering weapons.

From what he heard Glassbeaks were tall, fast and could chop threw steel. Among the worst monsters he could think of in Mihizar. He emerged from the tent seconds later. Bow slung over his shoulder along side his Quiver and sword in hand.

Feeling a little of the panic leave him knowing he at least had a fighting chance. Luke looked around for Inaril knowing the best place to be was with the commander.

[Dyrdas]

Dyrdas grabbed another barrel, gripping the bottom tightly and heaving it up to chest level. He grunted with the effort, breathing heavily through his nose and baring his teeth. With him were three men, two pale strangers of some lower caste and Luke. He hadn’t been able to interact with his fellow foreigner much, but Dyrdas could tell he and Luke were almost from entirely different worlds. Luke had considerably more mass to him, more muscle, and from the weapons he carried and the occasional glance at the man’s aura it was fairly obvious the man preferred more ‘hands on’ work than Dyrdas did. He could’ve been a soldier or a guard of some sort, but he bore more of a thuggish appearance to Dyr. As he set the barrel down in the water store, Dyrdas leaned against the wall, panting and breathing hard. He had, since the Frostwind pavilion had rescued him like the sad puppy he was, been engaged in more physical labor in 30 days or so time than he had in his entire life. When he lived in Zeltiva, he had been a lay-about of sorts, living off of the mysterious fortune his foster father had left him, but things with the Drykas were different. Here, he felt a purpose to everything he did, however little or menial. This was the first time Dyrdas had felt he was a part of anything. His physical form was changing as much as his lifestyle was, too. His skin was darkening from time spent in the sun, and he was beginning to build some slim muscle. His beard had grown quite a bit since he was rescued, and the once straggly thing, now fell luxuriously (or so he thought) a solid six inches from his face, and his long, shaggy hair fell a bit past his shoulders now. Dyrdas’s skills with the Drykas’s native language, Pavi, were now well known amongst the Pavilion, and he had tried conversing with the clansmen when he had the chance. So far, they were not impressed. He had, however, broken himself back into the language, and could hold a conversation without too much difficulty. His old man, Oromyr, had been a Drykas-friend. Dyrdas knew, however, the elder had been much more respected amongst the people than he was. It may have even been the Diamond Clan Oromyr had spent his time amongst the Drykas with. Meanwhile, Luke came up beside Dyrdas and set down his barrel with an audible smack of wood, breaking him out of his reverie. Luke’s comment drew a roll of the eyes, and Dyrdas was about to respond when shouting outside interrupted him. The man’s words were a blur, and they flew by much too fast for Dyrdas to comprehend. Inaril flew inside, her spear in hand, shouting about the impending Glassbeaks. Dyrdas merely threw a grim glance at her and Luke before he sprinted out of the tent to his own, where he grabbed his plain longsword, already in it’s scabbard and affixed to a belt, and buckled it not around his waist but over his shoulder in the method of the Drykas. He was out of his tent in a matter of seconds, rushing to where he could hear Inaril’s voice. As he moved, he consciously pulled at his Djed, spinning it out gently as a visible cloud of Res. Dyrdas came up beside Inaril, in a loose stance, hands out and at the ready. He did not draw his sword, but under the command of a skilled Reimancer, Res was a thousand times more deadly than something as simple as a blade. He was skilled. A single word fell loosely from his lips. “Ready,” he called, in Pavi. He raised his arms as the cloud of greenish gas swirled about him.

[Mixcoatl]

Though they had both rushed to meet their impromptu commander, in doing so, they had disregarded her direct order, so all they received from her was a cold glare and a quiet Pavi curse. It was too late to change their plans, though. The enemy was already upon them. There was no time to think. Several glassbeaks poured in through the maze of tents and, just as Inaril had suspected, they went straight for the horses, all of which were on the opposite side of the Pavilion. "The horses!" she barked again, motioning with her shield-arm for them to make their way over to the other side. As she gave this order, a glassbeak spotted the trio, and set upon the most immediate threat-- Inaril. She spotted it before it made its charge, hunkering down, spear protruding around her shield. A hellish screech flew from its beaked maw as it ran, no more than a blur to the untrained eyes of Dyrdas and Luke. Before they knew it, it was upon Inaril, jumping at her with glass-like talons extended. Quickly, she steped to the side, driving her spear forward into its chest as its talons buried themselves into her shield. The only thing that stopped it from tearing straight through was the layered resin between the wood and the leather, which was now torn away in a few strips, exposing the wood beneath. Inaril went down with the bird, talons still in her shield, as her spear was buried in its chest. As they hit the ground, the bird screamed once more, writhing once in pain before falling limp. It was a long moment before Istril struggled back to her feet, gasping for breath. She placed a foot solidly on the carcass of the bird, and yanked on the shaft of her spear, removing its head from the body. She drove it into the head once for good measure. Blood pooled around the glassbeak, staining the ground it laid on, and some decorated Inaril's face and torso. Once again, she motioned for the pair to move to the horses, where the sounds of battle were much more frantic. One more glassbeak came at her, but it was notably smaller than the one prior, and it was no longer a solo fight, as two more Drykas had joined them on this side. Eventually, when the pair made their way to the other side, a horrific sight laid before them. The dead and dying from three species, human, horse, and glassbeak, were splayed across the ground, and any that stood were covered in the blood of prior victims or those that had died near them. True to the legends, the Drykas were more than willing to die in defense of their horses, and the horses themselves were not without defense. Caught with nowhere to run, they kicked wildly at the assailing glassbeaks, though they only occasionally scored a blow on the quick-moving predators. The Drykas defenders were armed with a varying weapons, ranging from spears like Inaril's to bows and swords. A few even flung earth or rose it before the glassbeaks with reimancy, though Dyrdas knew that they would not be able to maintain such feats for long. Women and children without skills in arms cowered in the back, defended by warriors just as the horses were. This left the duo with a decision. Glassbeaks were not stupid creatures, and as such, were using their speed to their advantage, despite the closed quarters. They would strike after coming out of a sprint, and then sprint off once more, leaving little to no time for the Drykas to counter. Truly, the duo could see why they were the apex predators of the Sea of Grass. As they observed the battlefield before them, a juvenile glassbeak spotted the unprepared pair, charging them as was their style. Coming from the left, it rushed headlong at Luke, beak snapping, talons ready to strike. Though it was only a little taller than him, standing at 6'4, it was notably heavier than him-- 200 pounds of pure muscle, and if he managed to see it in the few seconds before it hit him, he could see the pure muscles rippling along its body. Dyrdas only had, at most, five seconds to react before the juvenile was upon them. Without a doubt, they would have to work together without complaints if either wanted to see Leth that night.

[Luke Lammergeier]

Luke turned around to leave, try and make the situation better by doing what was ordered of him in the first place. The horses needed to be protected but he was glad he didn't go in the first place. Glassbeaks poured from in between the tents. Terrible red raptor like beasts even taller than Luke. That would of tore him and Dyrdas apart with little effort.

The thing he would remember forever was their speed. He couldn't even think about defending himself before the creature was jumping threw the air. If the fierce reptile had aimed for him instead of Inaril he wouldn't have lived. Luke whipped his head back just as the pair crashed to the floor.

It was a loud disgusting noise. The scrape of claws, metal and the screeches of death. It took a couple of agonizing minutes before Inaril struggled up and too her feet. Showing just how tough and vicious the Drykas warriors were. She paid little attention to any wounds she had. Quickly stabbing the creature threw the throat to make sure it was dead.

Luke was barely able to check on Inaril before another Glassbeak came from in between the tents. Fortunately two other Drykas warriors came to arms with them. Even with the extra help the battle was fierce. The creature came at them so quickly he could hardly react let alone strike.

When the creature finally fell they were able to make it to the other side of camp. What he saw tore at his stomach. Good Drykas men and woman he saw in camp. Laughing, drinking and working with. Now lay slaughtered side by side with their cherished horses. Luke never really understood the bond between these people and their animals til now. It killed him knowing that he could of at least helped.

Luke was about to take his bow off his shoulder when he heard the shrill screeches of a Glassbeak. If he survived this, that sound would haunt him for the rest of his life. It was close to his left. Probably running quicker than his eyes could pick up. He only had seconds to move. Quicker than thought, Luke turned to face his opponent and stepped hard to the left. Raising his sword with his right hand to stab the creature head on. T

he creature was moving so fast he only caught a glimpse of its cold vicious blood stained beak before it crashed into his right side, sword and all. With all of Luke's weight on his left side, the impact made him ricochet off the creature. He flew threw the air and landed hard on the ground rolling. Whether he planned it or it was simple dumb luck, it worked. His right side held little resistance against the beasts charge. Knocking him away with little devastating force to his actual body. The sword he was holding was lost. Deep in between the beasts chest and neck. The rest was up to Dyrdas's reflexes whether he got out of the way or not.

[Dyrdas]

Dyrdas winced at Inaril’s reprimand. He nodded in acknowledgement, but said nothing. It was a strain on his very soul to create so much Res, and it was a challenge for his mind to control it. He was, at best, peripherally aware of the clamor around him as he wrapped his mind around the Res, keeping it around him until it was needed. Inaril’s evisceration of the Glassbeak drew him out of his deep concentration, and he winced a second time at the gory scene before him. Seeing the Glassbeak in action up close made Dyrdas question his strategy. He had control of his Res for now, but it was like balancing on a trip wire in his mind: On one hand he had the Res, and on the other the need to concentrate on his surrounding so as not to be impaled on a beak or claw. The immense speed of the birds gave him pause: would he be able to react quickly enough? He was unsure, and he pondered this as the trio made their way to the other side of the encampment. Dyrdas was drawn out of his reverie once more. He was shocked at the carnage laid out before him, the men and beasts fighting and dying in the blink of an eye, and it hit him how ill prepared he was for this. But Dyrdas caught sight of the other Reimancers and was at least somewhat reassured by their presence, if only because he knew his abilities were even effective here. Dyrdas widened his stance a little. There was a hard, almost worried look in his eyes, although no one involved in the battle would’ve noticed. His head snapped to one side as he heard a clash like so many before... except this one was closer. The ethereal tendrils of gas wrapped around him undulated, almost expectantly. He saw the blurred form of a Glassbeak rocketing towards Luke and himself. Luke stepped up, seemingly singling the bird out, raising the point of his longsword towards it. A blink of an eye later, the two collided and Luke was sent hurtling through the air. The Glass beak kept coming - right at Dyrdas. He made a sweeping motion with an arm at the Glassbeak. The Res coiled around him lept, and a portion of it detached and flew towards the Glassbeak, who was less than a second away. The Res transmuted into a howling wind, one the likes of which the plains only saw during the mightiest storms. The wind would’ve lifted the charging Glassbeak into the air, tumbling backwards, and hopefully breaking a few bones on the way down. The bird had Luke’s sword imbedded in it, however, and Luke lacked the ability to twist the fabric of his own soul to his whims. Dyrdas drew the sword from over his shoulder, and offered it to Luke.

[Mixcoatl]

Such a wind required the entirety of the Res coiled around the mage, meaning that there was none of the green gas to be seen. The desired affect was, however, obtained. The glassbeak went flying two or three yards, thudding onto the ground harshly. Ironically, it fell on the sword. Dyrdas couldn't help but feel a massive rush of euphoria fill him. His entire body shuddered in pleasure as he watched his foe collapse lifelessly to the ground. He had to cast more. He had to bring more death and destruction to the foes around him. All he could think about was the corpse of the glassbeak and the energy he had used to slay it. He could taste iron upon his tongue, and his eyes burned, but it didn't matter. The feeling of pleasure offset both to the point where they were barely noticeable. He didn't know what was causing the intense pleasure. All he knew was that he had to keep casting. If he didn't, then the Drykas had no hope of surviving through this violent assault. He was their lifeline. He was the master reimancer! Luke, on the other hand, found that it was difficult to move his left hand. After a long moment of thought, he realized that he had used it to brace his fall, which, in retrospect, was probably a terrible idea. Instinct, though ingrained, was not always the best response. He would have to get it looked at later, for there was no time to do such trivial things in the heat of battle. Fortunately for him, adrenaline blocked out any pain that he might be experiencing. The pair, as they looked around once more, discovered that a handful of glassbeaks were beginning to scurry away from the Pavillion and its surroundings, as primal instincts had finally overtaken them. Some of the less intelligent, or perhaps more brave, remained. One of these was assailing a group of Striders, who, by the looks of it, could only hold back its snapping beak and slashing talons for a few moments longer. Each buck of their legs came slower and slower, and some of them had simply ceased kicking entirely, too exhausted to continue. The only way they stood a chance at surviving was the intervention of an outside group, divine or mortal, though the latter was notably more likely to intercede than the former.